CHAPTER II
THE THIEF RIVER STAGE LINE
Sleepy Cat has little to distinguish it in its casual appearance fromthe ordinary mountain railroad town of the western Rockies. The long,handsome railroad station, the eating-house, and the variousdivision-headquarters buildings characteristic of such towns are inSleepy Cat built of local granite. The yard facilities, shops, androundhouses are the last word in modern railroad construction, and thedivision has not infrequently held the medal for safety records.
But more than these things go toward making up the real Sleepy Cat. Itis a community with earlier-than-railroad traditions. Sleepy Cat hasbeen more or less of a settlement almost since the day of Jim Bridger,and its isolated position in the midst of a country of vast deserts,far mountain ranges, and widely separated watercourses has made itfrom the earliest Western days a rendezvous for hunters, trappers,emigrants, prospectors, and adventurers--and these have all, in somemeasure, left their impress on the town.
Sleepy Cat lies prettily on a high plateau north and east of therailroad, which makes a detour here to the north to round theSuperstition Range; it is a county-seat, and this, where counties areas large as ordinary Eastern States, gives it some politicaldistinction.
The principal street lies just north of the railroad, and parallelsit. A modern and substantial hotel has for some years filled thecorner above the station. The hotel was built by Harry Tenison soonafter the opening of the Thief River gold-fields. Along Main Street tothe west are strung the usual mountain-town stores and saloons, but tothe north a pretty residence district has been built up about thecourt-house square. And a good water-supply, pumped from Rat River, abrawling mountain stream that flows just south of the town, hasencouraged the care of lawns and trees.
Before de Spain had walked far he heard music from the open-airdancing-pavilion in Grant Street. Stirred by an idle curiosity, heturned the corner and stopped to watch the crowded couples whirling upand down the raised platform under paper lanterns and red streamers tothe music of an automatic piano. He took his place in a fringe ofonlookers that filled the sidewalk. But he was thinking as he stood,not of the boisterous dancing or the clumsy dancers, but of thebroken lever and the defeat at the fair-grounds. It still rankled inhis mind. While he stood thinking the music ceased.
A man, who appeared to be in authority, walked to the centre of thedancing-floor and made an announcement that de Spain failed to catch.The manager apparently repeated it to those of his patrons thatcrowded around him, and more than once to individual inquirers who hadnot caught the purport of what had been said. These late comers hepushed back, and when the floor had been well cleared he nodded to theboy operating the piano, and looked toward a young couple standing inan attitude of waiting at the head of the hall.
All eyes being turned their way, de Spain's attention as well wasdrawn toward them. The man was powerful in stature, and rather tooheavy, but straight as an Indian. His small, reddish face was tannedby the sun and wind, and his manner as he stood with arms akimbo, hishands resting on his belt, facing his partner and talking to her, hadthe confidence of a man at ease with women. From the handsome hatwhich, as he turned to his partner for the dance, he sent spinningtoward a table beside the piano, the soft brown shirt and flowing tie,down to the small, high-heeled and spurred boots, he wore thedistinctive cowboy rig of the mountains, even to the heavyhip-holster, in which his revolver was slung. He was, in fact, rathertoo smartly dressed, too confident in manner to please de Spain, whowas in no mood to be pleased anyway, and who could conceive a dislikefor a man the instant he set eyes on him--and a liking as quickly. Heseemed to recall, too, that this particular fellow had crowed theloudest when he himself forfeited the shooting-match earlier in theday.
But de Spain, unamiable as he now was, looked with unconcealedinterest at the man's dancing partner. She, too, was browned by themountain sun and air--a slight, erect girl, her head well set, and adelicate waist-line above a belted brown skirt, which just reached thetops of her small, high, tan riding-boots. She wore a soft,French-gray Stetson hat. Her dark-brown hair was deftly hidden underit, but troublesome ringlets strayed about her ears as if she had notseen a glass for hours, and these, standing first with one hand andthen the other laid against her leather belt, she put up into place,and as if not wholly at ease with her surroundings. Instead of lookingat her partner, who talked to her while waiting, her eyes, noticeablypretty, wandered about the platform, resting at moments on the closelydrawn lines of spectators. They reflected in their unrest thedissatisfied expression of her face. A talkative woman standing justin front of de Spain, told a companion that the man was Gale Morgan, anephew of Satterlee, laziest of the Morgans. De Spain, who never hadto look twice at any woman, at once recognized in the dancing partnerthe little Music Mountain girl who had been his undoing at the target;the woman added that Nan was, in some hazy degree, Gale's cousin.
The energetic piano thumped the strains of a two-step. Gale Morganextended his arm toward Nan; she looked very slight at his side. Butinstead of taking her position, she drew back, looking up and frowningas she seemed to speak objectingly to Gale. De Spain saw herhesitation without catching its import. The talkative woman near athand was more divining. "Lord, that Nan Morgan makes me tired," sheexclaimed to her gum-chewing companion, "ever see anything like her?First she wouldn't dance unless the floor was cleared--Sleepy Catfolks ain't good enough for them Music Mountain cattle thieves! Andnow the music doesn't suit her. Listen to that boob of a boy tryingone piece after another to get one to suit my outlaw lady. Nerve!"
But while the impatient woman chafed the right tune was found, andNan Morgan's face, as she watched the manipulator of the piano,brightened. "Faster!" she cried under her breath, taking her positionon her cousin's arm. Then, responding with a sort of fiery impatienceto her partner's guiding, she caught the rapid step of the music, andtogether the two swept down the floor.
Whatever the impatience of the crowd over the finicky start, thespectators soon showed their admiration of the dancing withunrestrained hand-clapping, and followed with approving outcries. DeSpain, standing apart, watched Nan's flying feet, wondering how sheand her people could possibly be what they were painted, and whetherthey really were so or not. Every swaying step, every agile turnproved how sure she was of herself, and how perfectly her bodyanswered to every exaction of the quick movement of the dance. GaleMorgan seemed the merest attendant for his partner, who, withquickened pulses, gave herself up more and more to the lively call ofthe music.
Once the two swung away out, near to de Spain's corner. As Nan whirledby, de Spain, either with the infection of the music or from hernearness to him, caught his breath. His eyes riveted themselves on herflushed face as she passed--oblivious of his presence--and herecalled how in the morning she had handled her rifle in the samequick, sure way. De Spain could not dance at all; but no one couldsuccessfully accuse him of not knowing how to handle any sort of agun. It was only now, as she came so very close to him for the firsttime since the mortification of the morning, and he saw the smoothnessof her pink-brown cheeks, that he could ungrudgingly give her fullcredit for shooting him down. He forgave her, unasked, the humiliationshe had put on him. He felt an impulse to go up to her--now that shehad stopped dancing--and congratulate her honestly, instead ofboorishly as he had done at the match, and to say, unreservedly, thatshe was the better shot--indeed, one of the best he had ever seen.
But while he thought all of this he did not stir a step. The twodancers at once disappeared, and a new and rougher party crowded outon the floor.
"Now, isn't that a pretty bunch!" exclaimed the critical woman again."That's the Calabasas gang. Look at those four men with the redneckerchiefs. Sandusky, that big fellow, with the crooked jaw--Butch,they call him--and his jaw's not half as crooked as Sandusky himself,either. He couldn't lie in bed straight. And Harvey Logan, with hisblack hair plastered over his eyes. Why, for one drink those twofellows would turn loose on this crowd and kill half a dozen.
Andthere's two of Duke Morgan's cowboys with them, boozing old Bull Page,and that squint-eyed Sassoon--he's worse than the others, thatfellow--a fine bunch to allow in this town."
De Spain had excellent ears. He had heard of these Calabasas men--ofSandusky and of the little fellow, Logan. They had much more than alocal reputation as outlaws; they were known from one end of theSuperstition Range to the other as evil-doers of more than ordinaryruthlessness. De Spain, from force of habit, studied every detail oftheir make-up. Both showed more than traces of drink, and bothsecuring partners joined rudely in the dancing. It had become secondnature to de Spain to note even insignificant details concerning men,and he took an interest in and remarked how very low Logan carried hisgun in front of his hip. Sandusky's holster was slung higher andfarther back on the side. Logan wore a tan shirt and khaki. Sandusky,coatless, was dressed in a white shirt, with a red tie, and wore asoiled, figured waistcoat fastened at the bottom by a cut-glassbutton.
The Sleepy Cat gossip commented on how much money these men had beenspending all day. She wondered aloud, reckless apparently ofconsequences, who had been robbed, lately, to provide it. Hercompanion scolded her for stirring up talk that might make trouble;averred she didn't believe half the stories she heard; asserted thatthese men lived quietly at Calabasas, minding their own affairs. "Andthey're kind to poor folks, too." "Sure," grimaced the obdurate one,"with other people's money." De Spain had no difficulty in placing thetwo women. One was undoubtedly the wife of a railroad man, who hatedthe mountain outlaws, and the other was, with equal certainty, a townsympathizer with slandered men, and the two represented the twocommunity elements in Sleepy Cat.
De Spain, discontented, turning again into Main Street, continued ontoward the Thief River stage barn. He knew an old Scotch Medicine Bendbarnman that worked there, a boyhood friend; but the man, McAlpin, wasout. After looking the horses over and inspecting the wagons with anew but mild curiosity, awakened by Jeffries's proposal, de Spainwalked back toward the station. He had virtually decided not to takethe job that Jeffries painted as so attractive, and resolved now totake the night train back to Medicine Bend. Medicine Bend was hishome. He knew every man, woman, and child in the town. Before thetragic death of his father, his mother had lived there, and de Spainhad grown up in the town and gone to school there. He was a railroadman, anyway--a modest trainmaster--and not eager for stage-linemanagement.
The prospect of reducing the Sinks to a law-and-order basis at his ownproper risk could not be alluring to the most aggressive oflaw-and-order men--and de Spain was not aggressive. Yet within amoment of his sensible decision he was to be hurried by a mereaccident to an exactly contrary fate.
As he passed Grant Street again he encountered a party on horsebackheading for the river bridge. Trotting their horses leisurely, theyturned the corner directly in front of de Spain. There were five inthe company. Three of the men were riding abreast and a little ahead.Of these, the middle horseman was a spare man of forty years, with ablack military hat, and a frankly disreputable air. His face was drawnup into a one-sided smile, marked by a deep, vertical wrinkle runningup, close to his nose, from the corner of his mouth almost to theinner corner of his eye. Satt Morgan's smile was habitual and lessenedhis stern aspect. At his right rode his cousin, Duke Morgan, older,shorter, and stouter. His square, heavy-jawed, smooth-shaven face waslighted by hard, keen eyes, and finished by an uncompromising chin.Duke was the real head of the clan, of which there were numerousbranches in the Superstition Mountains, all looking with friendlinessor enmity to the Morgans of Morgan's Gap.
The yellow-haired man riding on the left, with a red face andred-lidded, squinting eyes, was in stature something between the twoMorgans, and about the age of the elder cousin. His shouldersslouched, and he showed none of the blood of his companions. But thisman, David Sassoon, the Calabasas gambler, quondam cowboy, and chronicbrawler, stood in some way close to the different Morgans, and wasreputed to have got each of them, at different times, out of more thanone troublesome affair, either by sheer force of arms, or through hisresourceful cunning.
These men were followed by a younger man riding with a very youngwoman. De Spain knew none of the front-rank men, but he knew well NanMorgan and her dancing partner.
They were talking together, and Nan seemed from her manner at oddswith her companion. He appeared to be trying to laugh the situationoff when he caught sight of de Spain pausing for them to pass. Gale'sface lighted as he set eyes on him, and he spoke quickly to Nan. DeSpain could not at first hear his words, but he needed no ears tointerpret his laugh and the expression on his face. Nan, persistentlyimportuned, looked around. She saw de Spain, much closer, it wouldseem, than she had expected to see a man looking directly at her, andher eyes rested on him only a moment. The substance of her cousin'swords she apparently had not caught, and he repeated them in a loudervoice: "There's your handsome Medicine Bend gunman!"
Nan, glancing again toward de Spain, seemed aware that he heard. Shelooked away. De Spain tightened up with a rage. The blood rushed tohis face, the sarcasm struck in. If the birthmark could have deepenedwith humiliation it would have done so at the instant of the coldinspection of the girl's pretty eyes. But he cared less for Nan'sinspection, cold as it was, than for the jibe of her satisfied cousin.Not content, Gale, calling ahead to the others, invited theirattention to the man on the street corner. De Spain felt minded tohurl an insult at them in a body. It would have been four toone--rather awkward odds even if they were mounted--and there was awoman. But he only stood still, returning their inspection asinsolently as silence could. Each face was faithfully photographed andfiled in his memory, and his steady gaze followed them until theyrode down the hill and clattered jauntily out on the swayingsuspension bridge that still crosses the Rat River at Grant Street,and connects the whole south country--the Spanish Sinks, the ThiefRiver gold-fields, the saw-toothed Superstition Range, Morgan's Gap,and Music Mountain with Sleepy Cat and the railroad.
De Spain, walking down Grant Street, watched the party disappear amongthe hills across the river. The encounter had stirred him. He alreadyhated the Morgans, at least all except the blue-eyed girl, and she, itwas not difficult to divine from her expression, was, at least,disdainful of her morning rival.
Reaching the station platform while still busy with his thoughts, deSpain encountered Jeffries and Lefever.
"When are you coming up to take my job, Henry?" demanded thesuperintendent without any parley.
"I am not coming up," announced de Spain bluntly.
"Not coming up, eh? All right, we'll find somebody that will come up,"retorted Jeffries. "John," he added, "wire Medicine Bend to sendFarrell Kennedy here in the morning to see me."
"What's the reason that fellow sticks so close to Medicine Bend?"demanded Jeffries, when Lefever joined him later in his office.
"Don't ask me," frowned Lefever perplexed. "Don't ask me. Henry is oddin some ways. You can't tell what's going on inside that fellow's headby looking at the outside of it." Jeffries grunted coldly at this bitof wisdom. "I'll tell you what I should think--if I had to think:Henry de Spain has never found out rightly who was responsible for thedeath of his father. He expects to do it, sometime; and he thinkssometime he's going to find out right there in Medicine Bend."
While they were talking the train was pulling out for Medicine Bendwith de Spain on board.
It was a tedious ride, and de Spain was much too engaged with histhoughts to sleep. The Morgans were in his head, and he could not berid of them. He recalled having been told that long ago some of thesesame Morgans lived on the Peace River above his father's ranch. Everystory he had ever heard of their wild lives, for they were men suddenin quarrel and reckless of sequel, came back to his mind. He wonderedwhat sort of a young girl this could be who lived among them--who_could_ live among them--and be what she seemed at a glance to be--afawn among mountain-wolves.
It was late when he reached Medicine Bend, and raining--a dismalkind of a night. Instead of going to hi
s room, just across thestreet from the station, he went up-stairs and sat down with thetrain-despatchers. After an hour of indecision, marked by alternativefits of making up and unmaking his mind, he went, instead of going tobed, into the telegraph-room, where black-haired Dick Grady sat at akey.
"How about the fight to-night at Sleepy Cat?" Grady asked at once.
"What fight?" demanded de Spain perfunctorily.
"The Calabasas gang got to going again up there to-night. They say oneof the Morgans was in it. Some town, that Sleepy Cat, eh, Henry?"
"What Morgan was in it?"
"Gale Morgan. A lot of stuff came in on it an hour ago. Was thereanything started when you left?"
"I didn't hear of anything," responded de Spain. But his indifferenceto the subject was marked.
"What's the matter?" demanded the operator. "Aren't you wellto-night?"
"Perfectly."
"Sleepy?"
De Spain roused himself. "Dick, have you got a Sleepy Cat wire open?"
"What do you want?"
"Tell Jeffries I'll take that Thief River stage job."